


Please Don't Stop

by LadyFogg



Series: Constantine Oneshots & Prompts [17]
Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Hellblazer
Genre: Dream Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jumper - Freeform, Language, Masturbation, Smut, Tulpa, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFogg/pseuds/LadyFogg
Summary: You’ve been dreaming of John Constantine nearly every night for the last week. This time you wake up sexually frustrated and take care of yourself. Until a warm hand and soft lips convince you you’re still dreaming. Right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay there’s a whole story behind this one. Basically there’s this myth that people who have written for John Constantine have actually seen and interacted with him in real life. Alan Moore apparently saw him twice. Of course my friend and I ran wild with the idea, freaked ourselves out, and after a paranoid twenty-four hours which included her having a smutty John dream, and some totally explainable but still sketchy things that happened to me, I wrote this fic. So in this fic, I play with the idea that John’s a tulpa/jumper. Enjoy!
> 
> Fic Song - https://play.spotify.com/track/5RR0dw4yB4VvyALi6vOOFL

 

_ God he's rough.  _

_ He grabs your hips, flipping you onto your stomach. You're so wet your thighs are sticky.  _

_ John slides his cock between your folds and you shudder with anticipation.  _

_ “John, John, please!” you beg. _

_ His drapes himself along your back, tonguing your ear. “You're so ready for, Johnny, love,” he coos. “Tell us what you want.” _

_ “Fuck me. Fuck me, please!” _

_ John chuckles deeply, burying himself in your quivering body. “Mmm, love the way you beg,” he purrs.  _

_ You gasp and moan as he begins to rock against you, hands sliding up your back to grab your shoulders as he pushes himself up onto his knees. With each thrust he fucks himself all the way in, his lap slapping your thighs loudly.  _

_ Shockwaves of pleasure send your body into a frenzy and you find yourself bouncing backwards to meet his thrusts. You wish you could see his face, but when you try to twist yourself, he pushes you face-first into the mattress, fucking you harder. _

_ It's all too much. Too intense. You're going to come. You  _ need _ to come. Just a little more… _

You wake abruptly, body feverish and chest heaving. Through the haze of sleep you can feel the edge of an orgasm dissipate and you groan with longing. Damn it, not again. You were right there. Every fucking night this week this has happened. 

It's still dark in your room, except for the soft light you left on in your closet. Your panties are sticking in the most unpleasant way. Without hesitating, you push them down and slide your fingers between your legs.

It's so sensitive it almost hurts, but you can't help moaning. You're slick. Probably slicker than you've ever been and you close your eyes, remembering the dream. Now that you're awake it's quickly fading, but you try to hold onto the vivid feeling of his firm hands on your skin and the way his breath felt on your ear. 

If you concentrate hard enough, you can  _ still  _ feel it. The blankets bunched against your side are warm enough to pass for body heat. Even the pillow touching your arm reminds you of John's skin, and how it practically electrifies every time he touches you in the dream.

Your hair slips from your neck and you tilt your head ever so slightly, pretending it's John's fingers brushing the strands away. It tickles, and you imagine those sinful lips pressing feather light kisses to the sensitive spot there. 

A cold breeze comes in through the open window, carrying with it the smells of fresh rain and...cigarettes? Someone must be smoking outside. Normally this pisses you off, but tonight you want to thank them for giving your fantasy more substance.

The wind and rain are a wonderful soundtrack, and you can even convince yourself that they sound like someone's breathing heavily next to you. 

Your fingers are soaked, and you’re so aroused that you can't help but jerk and twitch with every rub. Goose bumps erupt as the warm blanket falls onto your stomach, slipping down. 

Fuck, you wish it was John's hand. Those long, slender, scarred fingers splayed across your skin, inching lower. 

You reach with your free hand to move the blanket, the heavy weight too much for your over alert nerves to bare, only to trail your fingers along rough skin, covered in smooth hair.

You freeze, eyes snapping open. 

“Don't stop on my account, love,” John's voice sounds in your ear. The unmistakable tip of a wet tongue traces the shell. “Couldn't leave you all worked up now could I?”

Shit, you're still dreaming. You could have sworn this was real. Fuck, it  _ feels  _ real. 

“John, I'm so wet,” you moan, pushing his hand down. 

He hums with appreciation, fingers joining yours. “Yeah you are,” he grunts, pressing your fingers harder against your swollen pearl. However, he pauses after that, as if waiting. 

“Please don't stop,” you plead.

John starts to move again, granting your wish. “Let me help you, love.”

He takes over your movements, knocking your hand out of the way. Quick, skilled, fingers slide into you and you moan, arching your back. Your hands fall to the bed and you fist the sheets as John moves deep inside you, palm rubbing circles around your clit.

You've never had a dream this vivid. It's like every nerve is alive and that orgasm you were so brutally denied returns with a vengeance. 

“I'm gonna come,” you gasp.

John growls low in his throat and half rolls onto you, pinning you beneath him as his hand brings you closer. His cock presses persistently against your thigh, making you writhe. When you feel his mouth at that spot just under your ear, you can't hold back any longer.

“ _ Jo-ohn!”  _ you gasp, voice cracking as you finally find that sweet release. 

His hand keeps going, coaxing you through the orgasmic waves until you’re spent and panting. There's a beat where you simply lay there, breathing heavily together.

“I never leave my partners unsatisfied.” You can practically hear the grin in his panting voice. “No matter what.”

Everything is feeling fuzzy again, and when you open your eyes, all you see are lips descending onto yours and then you close them again, surrendering to the sweet kiss.

 

The ringing of your alarm is the worst sound in the world. You swipe at your phone on the nightstand and it goes flying, the shrill beeping forcing your eyes open with a groan.

That wonderful dream has you feeling surprisingly rested and it's with minimal complaining that you drag yourself out of bed to reach the device. Once the alarm is taken care of, you stretch and yawn.

Reading Hellblazer before bed was the best idea you’ve ever had. Your sheets are a wrinkled mess, but you ignore them in favor of closing the window. The room smells like cigarettes and you make a mental note to ask your neighbor to take their smoking elsewhere.

Bleary-eyed and feeling gross, you stumble over to the bathroom, intent on a hot shower. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you snort with amusement. Your hair is a rat's nest; you must have been thrashing something fierce in your sleep. 

After turning on the shower, you return to the mirror to assess the damage. Crazy hair? Check. Pillow creases? Check. Blemish on your neck? That's weird.

Frowning, you lean forward and examine the mark. Great. People are going to think you have a hickey. It actually looks like one, the redness making a jagged circle.

John's mouth on your neck comes back to you in full detail and your body warms at the memory. No. Not memory. Dream. Dream. It was a dream.

The most vivid, lucid dream you've ever had.

As you pull back from the mirror, John's reflection smirks back at you, leaning against the door frame. He's shirtless, his wrinkled black pants hanging tantalizingly low on his hips and his hair sleep-mused.

He winks.

Spinning around, you knock the toiletries off the counter as your back slams against the sink. 

Only to find you're completely alone. 

Your hand flies to your neck and you race into your room. Still alone. Bedroom door is still locked. Closet door is wide open, revealing haphazardly hung clothes. Nowhere for someone to hide. You look back in the mirror but all you see is your own startled reflection.

Mind racing with a myriad of emotions, from disbelief, to fear, to excitement, you sink onto the bed, still touching the mark on your neck. 

And even though the window is closed, you swear there's still a breeze that carries the smell of cigarettes. A warm sensation, almost like a palm, runs up your back and you shudder as hot air ghosts across your ear. 

“ _ Until tonight, love. _ ”


End file.
